


I'm A Sure Thing

by blaindersonkummel



Series: Klaine Advent 2017 [6]
Category: Glee
Genre: Aggression, Alternate Universe, Explicit Language, First Meetings, Gun Violence, Infidelity, M/M, Prostitution, Slut Shaming, Violence, prostitute!blaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 15:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blaindersonkummel/pseuds/blaindersonkummel
Summary: After an exhausting day at school, Kurt is sidetracked on his way home by two figures in an alleyway. One seems to be an older man. The other, a prostitute - a boy Kurt may have seen before. Title taken from the film Pretty Woman.Written for Day 6 of Klaine Advent 2017Prompt: "Fraction"





	I'm A Sure Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Read on Tumblr [here](http://blaindersonkummel.tumblr.com/post/168277043648/klaine-fic-im-a-sure-thing).

Kurt was tired. After a day of demanding dance rehearsals, voice lessons, and physical comedy acting 101, followed by two subways and a bus, Kurt was ready to get home, get into bed, and sleep for twelve hours.

The umbrella hanging on Kurt’s arm swung side to side as he trudged his way home, his apartment calling his name from ahead. As he made his way towards his building, however, something caught his eye.

Across the road, under the darkness of ten o’clock at night, he spotted two people, half in the shadows of the alleyway by the building, and half lit by the street light above.

Moving closer, however, Kurt was taken aback to see who the two people were. The first, a guy with salt and pepper grey hair, maybe in his mid-50s, dressed impeccably in a designer suit, topped by a dark trench coat which was likely to cost more than a month’s rent on Kurt’s apartment.

The second person, however, Kurt recognised. He had seen this man - well, boy really – before. The boy in question had been spotted by Kurt numerous times on this street, usually by the alleyway or on the corner. Yeah, Kurt was pretty sure this guy made his living on that street corner. And the boy’s clothes tended to confirm that suspicion.

Today, the boy had his curls loose and his eyes lined in a smudge of black liner. His clothes had tastefully fashionable rips in both the white t-shirt and the sinfully tight pair of black skinny jeans he had on, all topped with a pair of knee-length lace up boots and a bright red vinyl jacket.

Seeing these two together any other time of day may have made Kurt glance over at the sheer contrast of their ages and outfits. The thing which stopped him in his tracks, however, was the fact that the older gentleman had the boy pressed up against the side of the building.

Kurt’s eyes widened as he took in the sight. The boy had a strange expression on his face as if he was experiencing both the ecstasy of having a man pressed against his body, plus the boredom of a job he had performed plenty of times before. Kurt wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d seen the boy check his nails over the man’s shoulder as he mouthed at the boy’s neck.

Kurt suddenly caught himself staring and felt like such a creep. It was no business of his how the guy earned his living and how the other guy got his kicks. Moving onward, Kurt quickly reached the steps leading up to his building. He took them two at a time, making sure not to glance over his shoulder at the gorgeous boy, lest jealousy overcome him at seeing the man on top of him.

He was about to put his key into the front door when he heard a scuffling of rather loud noises behind him. Ignoring his rule and turning around, he was quick to catch sight of the boy pushing the man away with both hands.

“We didn’t agree on that!” the boy said, frustration evident on his face. Kurt wondered how many times before he’d had to do that.

“God, Devon, what more do you want from me?” the guy seemed to shout back, “I skipped out on my wife’s damn event mixer to come see you!”

The boy looked affronted at this.

“Yeah, so you picked me up, took me to your place, fucked me for an hour, and brought me right back again. We were out of your door in under five minutes. That’s got to be a record, John!” the boy – Devon, apparently - practically yelled this part, before his voice softened and he looked down at his boots, dejected. “If you’re not going to stick to your promise, you can just give me the money now and we’ll be done.”

The man – John – instantly seemed to have a red mist descend upon him and he stepped in to Devon’s space again. Kurt was frozen in place, straining to hear what was being said.

“Excuse me?” he asked, his voice threateningly aggressive as Devon backed into the wall.

“You heard me,” the boy responded shakily, obviously trying to sound more confident than he was feeling.

“I’m sorry,” John sneered, “What on earth gave a slutty little bitch like _you_ the impression that you can talk to me like that, huh?” the guy now had a venom in his voice that Kurt didn’t like, his words setting off alarm bells that Kurt really should intervene.

Devon looked hurt, perplexed, and just plain scared at this point.

“You didn’t seem to have such an issue with this slutty little bitch when you were fucking me into the mattress half an hour ago!”

The cracking sound that came was so loud, it broke Kurt out of his frozen stance. John had just slapped Devon right across the face, sending the young boy to the ground into a dirty puddle below. Devon’s hand flew to his face, holding his cheek where Kurt could see a bright red mark already forming.

That was the last straw. Shoving his keys in his pocket, with a huge rush of adrenaline, Kurt beelined right across the road towards the man. However, as he got nearer, Kurt was frozen again by a flash of something black and silver in the guy’s hand.

Devon looked up at this moment and locked eyes with Kurt, obviously having only just spotted him. His expression seemed to plead for help as he lay shivering on the ground in pain.

“Oh Devon, you’re really going to regret that.”

John then raised his right arm, pointing right at him as the black and silver flashed in front of Devon’s eyes. A gun.

Devon drew in a sharp breath and snapped his eyes shut, waiting for this to be over.

But no shot came.

Instead, there was a loud thump, followed by an even louder second thump. After what seemed like an eternity, the boy slowly opened his eyes.

Instead of a jilted ex-lover aiming a gun at his face, there stood another man. The gorgeous, much younger (but still older than Blaine), scared-looking man, breathing deeply and clutching something in his hands.

Devon sat bolt upright and surveyed the scene. In front of him lay John, face down in the puddle, his Armani suit completely ruined. The man above them, it turned out, had a death-like grip on a long, thin umbrella. It took a second for the puzzle to click that this guy must have knocked John out in one clean sweep before that gun could do some irreversible damage.

Still breathing heavily, Kurt looked down at the boy on the ground, eyes wide and heart racing.

“Are you- are you okay?” he asked, desperate to make sure this boy wasn’t in need of medical attention.

“I-“ Devon tried, but he just couldn’t get the words out. He tried again, but they just weren’t coming. He was shaking like a leaf.

Kurt managed to swing his leg over the man on the floor and walk across him to stand next to the boy.

“Devon?” Kurt asked, the boy neither nodded, nor shook his head, just looked at Kurt in shock, tears in his eyes. “Here, let me help you up.”

Kurt then held his hand out and miraculously, he took it, allowing himself to be pulled up on shaky legs as he stumbled. Kurt managed to catch him by the shoulders and steady him, a few tears beginning to leak now.

“I think you should come inside. I only live in that building,” he inclined his head towards the other side of the road. “We should get away from here.”

Allowing himself to be moved, Kurt steered Devon by his shoulders towards his apartment, helping him up the steps and into the warm entrance of the building.

When they got upstairs, Kurt sat Devon on the sofa as he ran to get some blankets and make a cup of tea. In all honesty, Kurt didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but he just knew this boy needed someone right now and that person happened to be Kurt.

When he brought the tea in to the living area, Devon had the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and thankfully, he seemed to have stopped shaking and got some colour back in his face – other than the bright red mark across his cheek, of course.

“I brought you tea,” Kurt said gently, moving to set it on the table in front of him and taking a seat on the same sofa.

It was only now that Kurt realised he had absolutely nothing to say to this boy. He was about to make some superfluous comment about any topic he could think of when the boy spoke.

“Thank you.” It was so soft, but it was crystal clear. He reached forward and picked up the cup, holding it in shaky hands to his lips.

“Look, Devon, if you need me to call anyone-“

“Blaine.”

Kurt stopped mid-sentence here, mind catching up.

“Do you need me to call Blaine?”

“No,” he said, the absolute tiniest hint of a smile on his lips at Kurt’s response. “I’m not Devon. That’s my middle name. My name is actually Blaine.”

“Oh.”

Kurt must have looked momentarily stumped but he suddenly felt stupid for not realising it sooner. Of course a prostitute was unlikely to use his real name. As tonight proved, it was a seriously dangerous profession to have on the streets of New York. You couldn’t be too careful.

With neither knowing how to respond, Blaine took another sip of tea, but his eyes stayed glued on Kurt’s face. Kurt could swear they held the smallest hint of lust directed at him.

Blaine lowered his cup and licked his lip, possibly not attempting to look seductive, but Kurt considered it to be overtly so, coming from this boy. “Okay, then,” Blaine began, “What do I call you?”

“Oh, ermm… I’m Kurt.”

“Well, Kurt, I must say I am seriously, seriously, happy to meet you. If you had got to me a fraction of a second later, I doubt I’d be drinking this delicious chamomile.”

Blaine gave a coy smile then and another sip of tea, but without a doubt, all Kurt could focus on were the scared eyes of a child staring right back at him.

“How… old are you, Blaine?”

“I’m twenty one!” he replied, far too eagerly.

Kurt gave him a pointed look and his guard immediately fell down, along with his head.

“I’m seventeen.”

Kurt felt kind of sick. How on earth did a seventeen year old, beautiful, quick-witted boy like Blaine find himself staring down the barrel of a gun on the sidewalk?

“Oh Blaine,” Kurt said, hurt in his voice, “How did this happen?”

“Well,” Blaine sighed, dipping the tea bag in and out of the water to have something to occupy his hands with. He took in a deep breath. “It’s kind of a long story…”

~

After an hour of talking, Blaine’s tea having gone cold and forgotten on the table, Kurt went to get Blaine some clothes to change in to, offering him the sofa to stay. Blaine fought back, refusing such a kind offer but Kurt insisted.

Instead, the pair changed clothes in the bedroom and seemed to continue their conversation sat across from one another on Kurt’s bed, legs crossed.

When that got to be too uncomfortable, the pair lay down on their backs, looking up at the ceiling as they exchanged their stories:

“I was bullied in high school.”

“I got beaten up at a dance.”

“My mom died when I was eight.”

“My dad never accepted me for who I was.”

“I don’t have many friends in the city.”

“I lost my virginity when I was fifteen.”

By the end of their talk, the pair were exhausted. So, when Kurt woke up at 6am, he was sure he had only slept about an hour. The shock came when he opened his eyes and saw that, not only was Blaine still there, he was fast asleep on Kurt’s chest, his beautiful face pain-free for the first time that night.

Kurt didn’t wake him. Instead, he tightened his arms around him and chose to go back to sleep for as long as possible. He just wondered what kind of topping Blaine would like with Kurt’s famous blueberry pancakes he’d be making in a few hours. But that could wait, for now.


End file.
